


indulgence

by superstringtheory



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Fluff and Angst, Ghost Ben Hargreeves, Hurt/Comfort, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, M/M, Pining, Season/Series 02, Sober Klaus Hargreeves, Stuffing, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:34:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26094961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superstringtheory/pseuds/superstringtheory
Summary: In 1960, the love of Klaus' life is fifteen years old and has no idea that he exists. Klaus eats his feelings about that.
Relationships: Ben Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves, Klaus Hargreeves/David "Dave" Katz
Comments: 8
Kudos: 84





	1. Chapter 1

Sobriety tastes like fast food. (Well, it also tastes like bile and sweat and Klaus won’t admit it now but he definitely asked Ben to put him out of his misery with those tentacles at  _ least  _ four times. And Ben, that bitch, barely looked up from his  _ Avengers #1 _ and said, “I’ll do a lot of things for you, Klaus, but hentai is not one of them.”) 

In any case, in 1960, they use a lot of lard. At least that’s what Ben tells him, disinterestedly, as Klaus is rapidly putting a third French fry into his mouth after inhaling the first two. 

“Were French fries always this good? I don’t remember them being this good.” 

“I didn’t think you remembered much about the last ten years or so, generally.” 

“Oh, go fu-- excuse me, ma’am, have a pleasant day!” Klaus stops mid sentence to nod to a lady in a little mint-green hat and suit combo (very QE2). 

“You probably shouldn’t talk to yourself when you’re in a diner booth in a crowded restaurant.” Ben puts one ankle on his knee and then laces his fingers on top of the Formica tabletop. 

Klaus hisses at him in response, but takes it as good advice: it’s probably best to avoid getting institutionalized if he can. Besides, these fries are fucking delicious, lard or no lard. 

*** 

He doesn’t mean to start a cult. Not really. He was just so  _ bored  _ and these people so desperately wanted some way to escape the doldrums of their atomic little Danish modern lives. Klaus has never been one to say no, especially not when it’s to attention. 

Everyone is just so  _ nice _ . They talk like radio personalities and use a lot of hairspray and they absolutely hang on Klaus’ every syllable. It’s fun and they spend a few months driving up and down the coast, having group sex on the beach and Klaus distracts himself by never, ever letting himself be alone. (“You’re never alone,” Ben says. “As someone who’s had to watch you get a rimjob more than once, let me remind you that I am always,  _ always _ here.”) 

But then one of the ladies’ old geezer oil tycoon husbands dies and leaves her a mansion and she gives it to Klaus. Legally and everything. And going around in a V-dub bus was fun and all, but now that it’s been a bit and Klaus has some sober clarity, he kind of wants to just wallow around in the fact that the love of his life is currently fifteen years old and has no idea that Klaus exists. 

Like, that was the whole point of coming back to the Dallas area. Stupid Dave and stupid time travel and stupid Vietnam. People in this year don’t even know what you’re talking about if you try to say something about Vietnam, they just blink at you and say, “Ohhhh... you mean French Indochina?” 

One night Klaus is feeling particularly sorry for himself. He’s just quoted bits of “California Dreamin’” to the cult and they pretty much frothed at the mouth for it, calling him a genius and a vision and all of that shit. But now he’s tired of dealing with them and is craving something a little more…  _ real _ . He’s sure he could get some acid or something if he asked, or even something harder. These people would do  _ anything _ for him, and that fact is a little scary if he lets himself think about it for too long. 

But then he remembers how he felt that fateful morning in Dallas, shoving a handful of French fries in his mouth, and it comes to him: the solution might just be in the mansion’s cavernous kitchen. 

*** 

“What are you doing now?” Ben asks, and it’s the most interested he’s been in something Klaus is doing for weeks now. He made it clear to Klaus pretty early on that he finds the whole cult thing pretty stupid and said that he hopes Klaus doesn’t end up drinking the Kool-aid, too. 

“I’m hungry,” Klaus says, simply, and continues rummaging through the cupboards and fridge. “Haven’t felt that for a while, so I figured I should act on it.” 

“Oh,” Ben says, and his voice gets a little softer. “That’s good, Klaus. Good for you.” 

That small bit of praise lights a tiny candle flame in Klaus’ chest. See, this sobriety thing isn’t all bad! He can feel good without drugs and without Dave. (Well, maybe… the jury’s still out on the Dave part.) 

He never really learned how to cook, so Klaus isn’t sure that now is the best time to be experimenting with boiling water or frying pans. Instead, he makes himself a stack of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and brings them up to his room along with a bag of potato chips and a glass bottle of Coke. 

“Wow,” Klaus says to Ben after he takes a swig of his drink. “Even Coke is better in 1960.” 

“Probably full of sugar,” Ben says. “The real stuff.” 

“Yum.” Klaus takes another swig and then starts in on his first sandwich. 

*** 

Normally, Klaus would stop at one sandwich. Maybe two, if it was his only meal of the day. He’s never really been one to binge on food. Drugs? Alcohol? Guilty pleasure reality tv? Sure. But food’s never been his thing. He’s never said no to trying something new, though. 

He gets through three and a half sandwiches and the bag of chips is mostly crumbs by the time he has to call uncle. 

“Jesus, I’m full,” he tells Ben, and then surprises himself with a burp. He smacks his lips a little bit afterwards and rests a hand on his stomach, which is rounded out. Klaus swirls the last swallow of Coke in the bottle and then downs it. He burps again from the carbonation but instead of feeling nauseated or sick, he just feels heavy and lazy. Content. Like he could drop off to sleep right now without having to listen to some dead biddy or bastard yammering on about something that happened in the 1870s. Or without reliving the love of his life’s last moments. 

“You feel okay?” 

Klaus slits an eye open, then realizes that Ben’s watching him with a concerned crease in his forehead. 

“Yeah, bro. I’m good. Like… uh, really good. Think I’m gonna go to sleep now, actually.” Klaus makes a show of yawning, which isn’t much of a show, and slowly gets up from the floor pillow he’d been sitting on for his mini-feast. His king-size bed is beckoning. 

Klaus falls asleep, belly gurgling. For the first time in a long time, he doesn’t remember his dreams when he wakes up. 

***


	2. Chapter 2

After that first night with the PB&Js and chips, Klaus decides to branch out. The next night, he very carefully follows the instructions on the back of a box of Kraft macaroni & cheese. It comes out rather bland but filling, and he eats the whole thing straight from the saucepan. For dessert, he eats ice cream until his spoon hits the bottom of the carton and he has to lean back to give himself some room to just breathe. 

“You good?” Ben asks him again, and Klaus takes a moment to answer, relishing in the feel of his stomach pushed out taut. It feels good to rub it, like you would a sore joint after a long workout. Except that Klaus hasn’t been exercising- he’s just been eating. A lot. Which, he supposes, is its own kind of workout. 

“I’m great,” Klaus says, and digs his spoon in again. “This tastes amazing, man. Sorry you can’t have some.” He brandishes the spoon in Ben’s direction, belching, and Ben blanches a little. 

“Looks like you’re having enough for us both.” 

“Eating for two,” Klaus says. He licks the last few drips of ice cream off of the spoon, swirling his tongue. “Sounds about right.” 

“You’re not pregnant,” Ben says. 

“Hey, weirder things have happened,” Klaus says sagely, and Ben doesn’t glorify that with a response. 

*** 

Sometimes it does feel like what Klaus imagines it must feel like to be pregnant, though. Except instead of an unborn human, he’s just knocked up with a lasagna or a bag of sliders. (They still have fast food in this decade, thank god. They even bring your food to your table! Too bad about all of the homophobia and racism, or Klaus could really get used to the ‘60s.) 

And it shouldn’t be so tiring- it’s just  _ eating _ , for Christ’s sake, but something about having a too-full stomach really helps Klaus go to sleep. Even when he gets twinges of pain, it’s worth it for the ability to fall asleep quickly rather than obsess over how he can’t remember the last thing Dave said to him. It was probably something stupid. Nothing poignant or memorable. It wasn’t a movie moment. They didn’t get time to say anything to each other before it happened. It just did and that was that. And then Dave was gone and Klaus was still here. 

Even the cult members have noticed his increased appetite and the very slight convexity where there used to be concavity. And, bless them, now they’re  _ helping _ . 

*** 

“At least you’re getting something healthy,” Ben notes, “not that it makes a huge difference when you’re eating junk food every night.” 

“Shut up,” Klaus starts to say, but is interrupted by someone (Susie? Linda? Honestly, he can’t be expected to keep all of these people straight) pushing another grape into his mouth. He chews and then swallows, enjoying the taste. Another grape bumps up to his lips and Klaus eats that one, too. He eats two whole bunches that way and then lies down for a while. 

When he wakes up, it’s because someone else (Janet? Jessica?) has brought him a homemade pear tart. It’d be rude not to eat it. He’s like a god to some of these poor people! It’s really the least he can do. 

He preached the wisdom of Britney to the cult today and it seems to have really resonated. On second thought, perhaps “I’m a Slave 4 U” wasn’t the best choice, but can anyone blame him? He’s in the wrong timeline and he can’t be with the love of his life even though he’s physically mere miles away. 

“I think all of this power has gone to your head,” Ben says, watching Klaus determinedly dig his fork into the half-empty tart tin. “Isn’t it the definition of crazy when you keep doing the same thing over and over?” 

Klaus pauses for a deep burp, then says haughtily, “Ben, you insult dear Albert with your misquote. He said that it was the definition of insanity to do the same thing over and expect a different result. I know  _ exactly _ what’s going to happen.” He pops another bite into his mouth and smiles at Ben, full-cheeked. 

Ben groans. “Jesus.” 

“No,” Klaus says. “Just me. But close enough, I guess.” He pokes another forkful of tart into his mouth, chews, and swallows. His tummy hurts, but that’s not a surprise. After he finishes this, he can go lie down and rub it and take a delicious, no-dead-boyfriend-dreams-allowed nap. 

“Well,” Ben says. “I guess I’ll go and leave you to… whatever it is this is.” His mouth is all pinchy and if he weren’t a ghost, Klaus is sure he’d get hot wearing that leather jacket over a hoodie all the time- it’s like, four layers. Klaus would know- he’s sweating and he’s only in a loose robe, belt undone to allow his stomach room to breathe. 

“You do that,” Klaus says. “I’ll be here, enjoying my tart.” 

He falls asleep with crumbs on his belly and all over the floor. 

  
*** 

After a few months, it’s clear that the small convexity of Klaus’ middle region can’t be explained away by bloating or a large meal anymore. Sure, there’s usually some of both of that, too, but there’s also a layer of fat. 

“A potbelly,” Klaus says. “I’m getting a potbelly. Me! God, Ben, do you remember how skinny I was when I was a junkie?” He grabs a bit of flab (because he’s got that now!) and jiggles it. 

“Of course I do,” Ben says in a monotone. “I’ve unfortunately been witness to plenty of your bony praying mantis sexual antics.” 

“It’s not my fault that my limbs are long,” Klaus says, now cupping the little handful of pudge that’s somehow accumulated underneath his bellybutton. “Ugh. I could use something to eat.” 

‘Something to eat,’ nowadays, can be something of a production. Once these silly cultists got it into their heads that their prophet could be plied with gifts of food… well. It’s gotten excessive. But it’s not like Klaus can say no! He could hurt Mary… uh… Karen… hmm… Sally (?)’s feelings! 

It makes being prophet easier, too. Everyone seems to feel like they’re spiritually fulfilled by, well,  _ filling  _ Klaus, and he’s not one to argue. It’s better than trying to remember NSYNC lyrics without the aid of the internet. 

Sure, it means that he’s stuffing himself pretty much every day, but it’s hard to get distracted by thinking about your missing family members or teenage twink love-of-your-life (also dead in another timeline, by the way!) when you’re full up to your eyeballs. Given the choice, Klaus will take stomachache forever for a thousand, Alex. 

Ben’s not entirely content with this development. Klaus takes his input in small doses only, small aperitifs to the main course, which is to never deal with his problems, especially those of the familial and romantic variety. Klaus is fine with focusing on his new problems, like how that stupid loincloth doesn’t fit him anymore or how there are far fewer flavors of ice cream in this decade which is a serious bummer. 

For instance, right now Klaus is working his way through a casserole that Sue or Pamela or Kathy or whoever it was made for him, and Ben is trying to tell him that maybe he should think about trying to look for the others. 

Klaus isn’t paying a lot of attention. His belly gurgles and he takes a big swig of whole milk straight from the carton. He’s found that it helps to have a beverage if he wants to get through a good bit of his offerings before he’s too full and has to take a nap. 

“I’m just saying,” Ben is yammering on, and Klaus holds up a hand (the one not currently occupied by a fork) to get him to pause. Then he belches, open-mouthed, and he’s so full that it barely brings him any relief. 

“You’re a glutton,” Ben says, and at least it got him off the subject of Hardy Boys-ing around Dallas looking for their siblings. (Klaus would be Joe, clearly, because he’s the fun one. Ben has always been a Frank to the core, dour and rulebook-y. Blech.) 

“Am I,” Klaus pants. “And here I thought I was a pig.” He takes a few shallow breaths and rubs the crest of his stomach where it’s tightest. 

Ben narrows his eyes at Klaus. “I know what you’re doing,” he says. “And I’m not going to let you keep doing this forever.” 

“Oh, brother dear,” Klaus says. “You of all people should know that I am well-versed in much worse coping mechanisms. So if you aren’t going to help by bringing me a belly rub or an antacid, I suggest you go away.” He makes a little shooing gesture with his hand, and then returns it to massaging a little circle into his side. He burps again and closes his eyes in momentarily relief. 

When he opens them again, Ben is gone. Good riddance. Klaus has the rest of a casserole to deal with. 

**Author's Note:**

> More to come. ;) 
> 
> Thanks to [sorteparaplyer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorteparaplyer/pseuds/sorteparaplyer) for idea-bouncing with me! 
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](superstringtheory.tumblr.com) if you want to also squeal about Klaus getting chubby. Or cry about Klaus and Dave.


End file.
